Star Trek TOS: Blow Back
by murphycat
Summary: Re-edited and re-tweaked story which was posted before. Spock is ordered to find two former crew mates from the Enterprise 1701, after Kirk disappears for good. An old enemy returns and a relationships are pushed to the limits, including a personal one that comes to light.


Title: Blow Back

Category: TV Shows » StarTrek: The Original Series

Author: murphycat

Language: English, Rating: Rated: T

Genre: Adventure/Angst

Published: 03-26-14, Updated: 03-26-14

Chapters: 12, Words: 20,060

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Blow Back: Chapter 0 Introduction I wrote this story a while back and left it hanging because at the time I hadn't decided how I wanted to end it. I assumed that when appropriate, the characters would tell me what they wanted to do, and they did. I also had some gentle persuasion from a friend. I had some not so nice commentary about not finishing it from one person. Little did she know that it was already in the works. I want to say here that I think the best fans in the world (fanfiction, television, movies) are Star Trek fans. For the most part, all of you are wonderfully supportive and lovely people, not to mention intelligent and creative. Especially the Ch/Sp fans. ;) This is an edited version in several ways, but not a completely different story. I hope you enjoy the finale, the small tweaks, and if nothing else, just reading the story again. I never liked a weak sappy Chapel. I don't think Majel Roddenberry did either. I have read and heard from other ST: TOS fans that Roddenberry had planned a romance would at some point have developed between Chapel and Spock. I think it was the normal course of events for a man exploring his dual heritage. If you are confounded by some of the Vulcan terms, please go to wiki/Vulcan_language#Homeworld and look for the words. After all, I can't take ALL the mystery out of it, can I? Thank you for your patronage and I hope you enjoy the story. Sincerely, MurphyCat

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

*BLOW BACK: Chapter 1

Captain James T. Kirk had been lost, presumed dead, for seven years, and during that time Spock had assumed the mantle of a full ambassador from Vulcan in service to the Federation of Planets.

Spock still grieved Kirk's death, borne as an ancient penitent might, with ashes and lashes, all internal, of course. To the universe, his pain was never visible; Spock had moved on, as had everyone else who had served under or loved Kirk. The venerated ambassador knew that his was a wound, which would never heal, a chronic ache that at best could be managed but never fully subdued, not even by a Vulcan.

He had cut himself off from his other shipmates, even Dr. McCoy. To be near them, to reminisce about their adventures and catch up on what was happening in each other's lives, children, marriages, ex-marriages, and new adventures were simply more than Spock cared to hear. Without Kirk, his blood brother, it all seemed empty and trivial. He drifted away from his nearest and dearest, although he couldn't acknowledge it without bringing down his logical citadel of emotional cards with which he had erected to protect himself.

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Pharagos was a class M planet where Ambassador Spock and his contingent were closing their dialogue with two combatant worlds in an inhabited planetary system of five, in an attempt to establish safe and regulated shipping lanes between the planets and throughout the system without managing to kill off every pilot that could fly a spaceship.

Frankly, Spock was weary-and leery-of it. It was what his old friend Jim Kirk might call, "a milk run," and, as such, easy assignments had a way of becoming dangerous and volatile perhaps for the reason that when safety seemed assumed, people tended to allow their guards to drop, giving instability a venue into the larger undertaking.

As usual from his outward appearance, Ambassador Spock's demeanor was calm and tranquil.

After ten days of mediations, mitigations, compromises, and refereeing, he was tired and actually looking forward to returning to Vulcan for a respite from the emotional chaos that surrounded him constantly. He had entered a type of grotto or apse, which allowed him to meditate and settle himself before boarding the T'Pol for his return trip. After a time, Spock arose, and headed toward the section of the spaceport where he would rendezvous with the rest of his delegation.

"Ambassador Spock," T'Rek, his young Vulcan personal assistant, appeared as if suddenly beamed there by his side as he exited the quiet corridor into the bustle of the common area.

"Ambassador, there is an Admiral Janeway urgently requesting that you return his communique at Haumea Station. The admiral says it is of utmost importance." The young Vulcan's skin was flushed darker green with her not so concealed excitement.

"Very well, T'Rek, shall we proceed to our ship and determine what has the good admiral so agitated?" Milk run, Spock thought. Always trouble.

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Spock found a secure comm unit inside T'Pol, and within seconds, was staring into the craggy, blue-eyed face of Admiral Richard Janeway.

"Ambassador Spock, many thanks for getting back with me so quickly." Janeway's eyes were direct and his attitude was straightforward, and he wasted no time getting to the point, "We have a two Starfleet ships missing. One, a medical ship, the USS Comfort is a state of the arthospital ship that was dispatched from Starbase 19 two standard days ago to rendezvous near the Firth Nebula with the USS Blue Ridge, a crew and supply ship returning from 309.890, a terraforming planet and its station near the Romulan Neutral Zone. The Blue Ridge is assumed missing in action as well."

"According to Blue Ridge's captain, two days into their return trip, there was an outbreak of an unfamiliar virus with high casualties. That's all we are able to gather from her garbled communique; what little we received was lost or blocked 198 seconds into transmission. With the Saratoga at the apex of herNeutral Zone patrol, there was no shipwithin 6.2 standard days of accompanying the Comfort, as you know Starbase 19 is the closest monitoring station to the neutral zone. The Comfort was not scheduled to be at the base, but due to an unexpected environmental problem at Starbase 18, her schedule was amended and she was at 19 when the distress call came in.

"As time is obviously of the essence, shewas dispatched to set up quarantine and determine what it was, how the virus was transmitted and then establish a treatment protocol or quarantine. The hospital ship should have arrived at the Blue Ridge's last known coordinates ten hours ago, and that's when all communication was lost with both ships. Comfort reported them having the Blue Ridge on long range sensors; no communication was established.

"The T'Pol is the closest Federation ship we have to their last known position. We need information about what's going on—yesterday. From your present location, you should be able to reach their last known coordinates in 12 hours at top warp speed. We need to find those ships and to prevent a widespread panic—or widespread contagion—and find out if it's a natural illness or a possible biological weapon deployed by the Romulan Empire. I realize that may sound a bit paranoid, but being so close to the neutral zone, it is a scenario that must be considered. Contact must be established with all due haste, if God forbid, it is a biological weapon. I trust I am being clear, Ambassador?"

Spock's face was impassive. "You are Admiral. We will be getting underway within the hour and you will be getting a situation report. I trust, sir, if you receive more pertinent information that it will be relayed to our ship, as soon as possible. It seems quite suspect that an illness could act so quickly that communication was terminated by the captain of the Blue Ridge while it was still being transmitted."

Especially since most Starfleet ships had biological decontamination protocols built into transporters as standard equipment, Spock thought.

"Agreed, but that's exactly all we have, Ambassador."

Spock asked again, "What about the Comfort? Her last report was simply picking up the supply ship on her long range sensors?"

Janeway steepled his hands in front of him and his face became broodingly dark.

"Yes. The captain of the Comfort reported picking up the Blue Ridge on long range sensors and then nothing, no visual confirmation. Not another single bit of data from her."

Janeway's blue eyes looked haunted, as he continued, "I know this is irrelevant, and I would be just as alarmed no matter what ship was out there, but," the admiral looked down at his hands as they wrestled together on his desk, "My son is a science officer on the hospital ship. I know his captain and if there was any way to get a message through or a way out, she would have found it by now."

Spock asked, "May I ask who are the captains of the ships, sir."

Janeway looked as if he could burn a hole through Spock with those dark blue eyes. An ironic and poignant expression fought for control of the weathered face of the admiral.

He said, "The Ridge is under the command of Captain Kevin Riley. Both captains were crewmates of yours on the Enterprise, under Captain Kirk. I am sorry, Ambassador. I understand that this could only make it more difficult for you-."

Would it, Janeway thought to himself? Spock left the service after Kirk's death, so the admiral felt he had assumed a great deal, especially about a Vulcan.

Spock's face was stoical, "Yes, I am familiar with him. He is a fine officer and I don't believe he would exaggerate the severity of his crew's condition. And the other ship?"

"The Comfort is under the command of Captain Christine Chapel, one of the best Emergency Ops officers that I ever served with, not to mention a great doctor—xenobiology is her specialty, which should help tremendously."

Before Spock could wrap his mind around the admiral's words, Janeway leaned forward as if he wanted to touch the Vulcan, and in an impassioned voice he said, "Spock, before you were an ambassador, you were a hellava Starfleet officer and captain. From this point on, you are to assume command of the T'Pol. Your orders are to find them, Captain Spock. Contain whatever this unspecified illness is, and bring back my ships and their crews. Ambassador, the Federation needs you. I need you. "

Physical pain seemed to ripple across Admiral Janeway's face. "If the outbreak is a biological weapon, do you duty, Captain, and do what you must to protect the Federation."

The admiral took a deep breath and said, " Godspeed and good hunting. Janeway out."

The screen flashed back to the Federation emblem.

Across Spock's mind flashed the faces of two people connected to the ship that had changed his life, and to the man whose ship and crew meant everything to him. A man he once knew and was indebted to for his life in many ways.

Spock almost smiled as he leaned his head forward to rest in his palms to gather his thoughts. The universe is truly a strange and remarkable place, he thought, more than logic could explain. Riley and-Christine.

Christine. The last time he had seen her was at Jim's memorial. It had taken both of them to get

Leonard McCoy back to his home. She volunteered to stay the evening in case Leonard needed her. All Spock could do was give monosyllabic answers when she asked him a question; feeling McCoy's and his own loss had been almost more than he could bear. He needed to get away from McCoy, for a while anyway. Spock had cleared the door of McCoy's large white house when she softly called his name.

Spock stopped on the porch and turned back to face her. It was softly raining and the air had turned cool for Georgia.

Pushing the screen door open, she stepped out onto the porch, meeting him in the semi-dark. The lamps from inside the house were the only illumination. Her usually neat hair had wispy pieces falling around her face and she looked as tired and heartsick as he felt.

Christine's glacial blue eyes were filling with tears. Looking into his dark eyes, which not many people would do these days for fear of what they might see there, she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry he's gone, and I'm so sorry for your loss."

She rested her hand on his left shoulder, and he did not push her away.

"Take care of yourself, Spock. Please," she barely whispered, leaning close enough for him to smell her light perfume.

At that moment all he wanted was to fall into her arms and sob until he was spent, as he used to do with his mother when he was very, very young, and she would make it all better. But Christine was not his mother, and it would never be made "better."

He reached up and gently wiped away a tear that was running down her left cheek. Christine thought he still looked shell shocked, and she was worried.

"Your face is wet, Miss Chapel." The not so softly veiled reference did not nostalgically take them back to their time on the Enterprise. If anything, it made him feel more loss—more regretful about so many things. Her skin was smooth and cool on his hand. If through nothing else, their service aboard Enterprise, under Jim Kirk, would bind them longer than they would live. Jim Kirk's Enterprise would be the stuff of legend.

She had smiled gently, and said, "I think it will be wet for quite a while yet."

"Perhaps that is as it should be, Christine."

He held the back of his hand against her cool skin. Christine's emotions were strong, but not overwhelming. Spock realized that he had always underestimated her, to his detriment.

Dropping his hand and lastly his eyes from her face, Spock turned and left in the night, seven years ago. Later, early in the morning hours, he found a ship to take him back to search where Captain Jim Kirk had been lost.

BLOW BACK: CHAPTER 2

"Fire all port side phasers! Epsilon Delta spread!" Captain Chapel yelled as the Romulan war bird continued to pound away at the smaller supply ship that USS Comfort was trying to protect.

"Captain," Lt. Monroe, at communications, "Emergency transmission from the Blue Ridge!"

"On screen," Chapel said.

Her bottom lip hurt like hell where several of her teeth had penetrated it from the inside, and now it had swelled to twice its normal size. Thank you, Captain Romulan Ass, she thought angrily.

The face of Kevin Riley filled the bridge screen, fragments of "O Kathleen," still ran through her head, as she saw his perpetually youthful face, but now he had a severely lacerated forehead and sparks were flying from various stations and terminals visible on his bridge.

"Captain Chapel, I am giving the order to abandon ship. Our warp core is off-line, life support is severely damaged, and we have a hull breach you could fly a shuttle through on the lowest deck—and no way to plug it!"

He stopped to converse with an ensign on his left. "Now I'm told our medical officer and engineer have joined the previous twenty-eight dead of our crew of sixty. We have more than enough pods to escape the ship," he tried smiling that charming boyish smile of his, instead it was a grimace, "But now outrunning that war bird in them is another matter entirely."

She knew his idea was a last ditch effort to save his crew. The loss of his ship was a given.

Christine did not smile back, "Riley, if you abandon ship in those pods, that son-of-a-bitch is going to pick you all off like shooting plastic pigeons at a carnival game and you know it."

"Captain ChapeI, I'm not askin' you to drop your shields to take us aboard. That's suicide! I mean I know you're crazy about me, woman, but I won't have you sacrifice your ship." Smart ass til the end.

"Well, believe it or not I might not have to. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, too, you Irish fool."

The tall, confident woman smiled now, pretending like he was, that his ship was not going to be destroyed.

"Go ahead and get your crew to the pods but try to hold out for a few minutes longer. Trust me, Chapel out!"

A ferocious hit on the starboard side of the Blue Ridge, blew debris all over Riley and his few remaining bridge crew. None seemed to be seriously hurt, but all were knocked off their feet. "Trust me, she says," Riley mumbled, rolling his eyes.

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"Incoming!" Jackson said, loudly.

"Alpha, Alpha, Delta pattern, Lt. Move it."

A detonation off the port side threw the standing bridge crew to the floor or their knees. Captain Chapel fell forward, hitting her cheek sharply on the helm console.

"Keep us between that war bird and the Blue Ridge, no matter what!" Christine called to her helmsman, Anna Jackson. "No matter what that bastard tries, don't let him get them with another direct hit or they're space debris. Got it? Head us, bow in, toward him."

"Understood, ma'am." Jackson's eyes were red and bleary from heat and lack of rest, but she wasn't called "Stonewall," for nothing.

The bridge corpsman offered to tend to Chapel's wound, but she shrugged him off, after taking a gauze pad to daub the blood away.

"Monroe, open a channel to the Blue Ridge and use one of the newest, binary codes." Chapel barked at her communications officer.

"Yes, ma'am. Frequency open." Monroe was good and fast.

"Where's the visual?" Chapel asked. She was out of her chair and between the rail and the communications station.

"They've suffered too much damage, Captain. An audio is the best I can do. And that's going to be difficult. But I'll get it, Captain."

"Give me a split screen and highlight the positions of both ships. Keep an especially sharp eye on the Romulans," she ordered her helmsman.

The screen instantly presented both ships.

"Weapons, lock a phased plasma torpedo on the war bird."

Sanchez swallowed, "Captain, ma'am. You know that will—"

His captain cut him off sharply, "I know exactly what it will do, Lt., now prepare to lock onto the dead center of that ship."

Sanchez sneaked a look at Jackson, seated next to him, and gave her a wide-eyed, w.t.f., look.

"Stonewall" Jackson refused to acknowledge him; she had experienced her captain's wrath when her orders were questioned. The captain was rarely wrong.

"Jackson?"

"Ready, Captain."

Lt. Monroe interrupted, "Captain Chapel, I have Blue Ridge's captain on audio."

Chapel hit a switch on the arm of her command chair as she said down heavily, "Kevin, I want you to load your crew into the pods and launch in 60 seconds."

"Christine, I thought we decided this was a bad idea."

"And I told you trust me. Now you've got 45 seconds. Go!"

"Monroe, Engineering."

"Standing by, ma'am."

A terrible shuddering shook the Comfort, the emergency lights flickering on dispelling the darkness, but leaving them in dimmed lighting.

"Report."

"Warp drive is offline. We have two hull breaches being sealed as we speak. Shields at 70%.

"Mr. Crabtree, I trust we still have impulse engines?" Chapel asked.

"We do. But I don't have any idea how much longer. One of our nacelles is blown to hell-."

"Impulse is all I need, Crab. Now standby and get ready to move!"

"Pods are launching, Captain!" Anders exclaimed.

Turning to Anders, "Drop aft shields; begin mass beaming of all pods directly into shuttle bay 2, then shields up!

A direct hit from the Romulan ship rattled Chapel's teeth.

"All life pods are aboard, Captain, shields up." Anders exclaimed. "Full quarantine initiated, ma'am."

"Good job, Mr. Anders."

Grabbing the arms of her chair, Christine Chapel yelled to her Chief Engineer, "Crabtree, get us the hell out of here! Reverse thrust, full impulse!"

"Fire torpedo! Now, rip through that ugly ass ship with every phaser we've got."

"Yes, ma'am!" Sanchez grinned.

The Romulan war bird shuddered and twisted as the power of the torpedo warped its components into unrecognizable melting debris, ending in an explosion that rippled out like waves on pond after a huge rock had dropped into the center.

The forward edge of the explosion's expansion wave was heading toward the Comfort at an incredible speed.

"Mr. Janeway, please tell me we're traveling faster than that wave."

The young, earnest science officer was fiddling with his console like Nero while Rome burned.

"Captain Chapel, I, um, I don't think we're going to make it. It will reach us 4.6 seconds before we are out of range." Janeway's face was pale.

Chapel didn't hesitate. "Helm, turn us head on into the wave. All power to forward shields."

Hitting the button on her chair again, "Crabtree, turn the forward deflector array into a shield and hold that thing off of us—all we need is a few seconds. Crabtree!"

"Captain, this is Ensign Hart, Chief Crabtree is dead, ma'am."

Christine ground her jaw, "Then get someone on that god-damned deflector! Now!"

"Monroe, give me a visual on that concussive wave."

"Aye."

The forward screen came to life with horrible clarity. Chapel turned off the comm to Engineering, not waiting for a response to her last order. She didn't think she'd need one now.

Blow Back: Chapter 3

Captain Spock was fully aware of the resources of his new command. The T'Pol might be a civilian arm of the Vulcan High Command, but she was anything but toothless. The Vulcans did not like calling the ship's capabilities hidden, but there was no logic in advertising them either.

After giving the order to head for the last known position of the ships, Spock decided to do some research on the missing ships themselves.

The USS Blue Ridge was a standard deep space supply ship: crew of 60, large cavernous holds where goods were stored for several deep space ports or stations along its route, standard defensive and offensive weapons, which could withstand an attack of a starship of moderate size. The ship's one advantage was a powerful engine design that enabled her to outrun most trouble. It was better to sacrifice the supplies, by jettisoning them, than the ship or the crew. If the cargo was anything of a serious nature it would be transported by starship.

Riley had been her captain for three years. No serious incidents, either professionally or personally. A few skirmishes with bandits or private raiders, but nothing Riley and his ship hadn't managed to outrun or that he hadn't managed to talk his way out of with his self-described charm. No other biological contaminants of any kind had sidelined his command before.

Spock noticed that the ship was equipped with upgraded decontamination equipment and transporters. Going from station to station and species to species, the Vulcan deemed it quite logical and decided that someone in Starfleet was paying attention, finally, to the details.

Lately, from what he had heard from his few contacts still in the fleet, things were not as "ship shape and Bristol fashion" as they used to be. Commander Montgomery Scott. Spock caught himself at the beginning of a sigh. One more lost. Missing in action.

Spock pulled up the data on the hospital/rescue ship under Christine Chapel's command.

The USS Comfort, NC-H 223, Mercy class, was a long cylindrical shape with two nacelles on each side, on short thick stalks. The ship could receive patients who are suffering from wounds primarily by shuttle or transporter, while in orbit or underway. It's main mission:

■ Provide surgical and medical patients until they can be returned to duty or evacuated to other acute care facilities or a Starbase for further treatment.

■ Provide a safe, stable, mobile platform, out of imminent danger, for carrying out the assigned mission.

■ Provide all the necessary personnel services and facilities required for support of the medical command.

■ Operate as a full Starfleet medical facility

■ Provide 12 operating rooms, 1,000 beds, and associated medical support while in its highest readiness condition (Condition I: Battle Readiness). This includes 80 beds for intensive care, 30 beds for recovery, 400 beds for intermediate care, and 500 beds for minimal care.

■ Carry out extended operations off a hostile front. Shuttle operations will be conducted for both delivery and evacuation of patients to other facilities.

■ Deploy within 5 days from receipt of mobilization orders, maximum

■ Receive and deliver dry cargo, emergency supplies, and provisions

■ Remain in a continuous condition of Readiness III (Wartime and Deployed Cruising). Operational systems are manned and operating to conform to prescribed Starfleet regs, while also accomplishing normal underway maintenance, support, and administrative functions.

Underneath the ship was mounted an impressive communications array, as well as a modified deflector shield, probably for protecting the ship from excessive radiation or other injurious space debris.

There were six phaser arrays on both the port and starboard side, and underneath another phaser array with phasing capabilities, as well as the ones located on the bow of the ship. Torpedoes were also added to her weapons complement.

AdmiralJaneway hadn't been exaggerating when he said the hospital ship was state of the art. But this was not simply a state of the art hospital/rescue ship. Spock was intrigued. And Christine wasn't just a doctor. She had been the head of Emergency Ops.

The head of EO when the Khitomer plot was discovered. Janeway had called her the "best head of Emergency Ops" he'd ever seen.

Other design data seemed to be missing from the ship's official records such as shield strength and specific crew positions. There could be great deal of empty space on a hospital ship not being utilized, so crew positions and number of such could vary.

Hospital ships weren't considered high interest. They weren't the "cowboy" type ships that got all the attention, so missing information wasn't likely to draw too much attention. No, they were the ships that came in afterward and cleaned up the messes.

Except this one seemed to be able to do both.

Spock sat back and closed his eyes. Why would such information not be included in the design data? And why would a hospital ship be equipped like a heavy cruiser.

His eyes snapped open and Spock looked at the computer and emblem on the screen, then asked one question, "Computer, how many Mercy class vessels are in service?"

"As of today's Stardate, there is one Mercy class vessel in service."

Well, Spock thought, how much more information had Admiral Janeway omitted?

What was Christine involved in exactly? Was the Blue Ridge incident staged?

Spock was beginning to realize that Janeway needed him a great deal right now, especially if someone had captured that state of the art hospital ship and its crew, but the admiral probably didn't need him as much as the two lost crews did.

*Note: I took the operational info from the United States hospital ship database and tweaked it for use here in this story, specifically, the TA-H 19 Mercy class ship

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The wind swayed the hammock back and forth. The sky was a beautiful, cloudless blue, and there was dark, soft green grass under her. She could hear a dog barking in the distance, not loud enough to bother, but enough to let her know she was home.

A wonderful smell was wafting from the kitchen window. Chicken pot pie. Her mouth watered. Getting up from the hammock in one smooth move, Christine headed across the grass and looking up, there was a tall man in a blue tunic coming toward her. He had dark hair and a long limbed walk. Spock!

Where did you come from? Where have you been?

Spock couldn't be here! And what's with the shirt? Suddenly the earth shifted beneath her feet and the ground between them was torn asunder. She reached for him as she fell back into darkness.

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"Captain Chapel? Can you hear me?" Ensign Janeway waved the capsule from the emergency med kit once again under his captain's nose.

She struggled to awake, and her blue eyes flickered open at him, then she was out cold, again, as was most of the bridge crew. She had a nasty cut on her right cheekbone and her lower lip was swollen. He checked her pulse and it was strong, so he let her be for the time being, waiting for the med team on the way.

Going back to his station, he called to engineering, "This is Ensign Janeway, science officer, come in, anyone, in Engineering."

Not a sound. Climbing and clambering around the unconscious and dead crew members, Janeway made his way to the communications console. He checked for a pulse on Eve Monroe's throat. Strong. Good.

Seating himself, Janeway flipped the forward screen on. It worked! He couldn't believe it! He magnified the space in front of the ship. Chunks of debris from the war bird and the supply ship, and, for that matter, probably his own ship drifted everywhere.

A voice from the communication console startled him. "Bridge? Bridge, this is Hart in Engineering. Is anybody there?"

"Engineering, this is the Bridge, Janeway here. What is the condition of the engines, Ensign? Have you reported your injured crewmen to a casualty team?"

"There are very few of us conscious and even fewer not injured, but I will make an assessment and get back to you, sir."

"Good man, Janeway out."

He turned back to survey the bridge and saw that he was still the only conscious crewman. Janeway signaled a casualty/injury alert on the console and waited for an answer.

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Captain Kevin Riley kicked open the door of his pod. There was no way for him to know it, but because he and his crew were in the pods was the only reason, they were still conscious. The ship had been unable to move out of the concussive wave in time.

The escape pods were doubly protecting Riley's crew, so the shock of the impact had not hurt or rendered them unconscious.

Making use of a wall com unit, he failed to understand why they hadn't been contacted by Chapel's crew yet. "Uh, this is Captain Riley. I and the surviving members of my crew are in one of your shuttle bays."

No response. He was as confused as the 29 other people with him.

Looking at the ID on the com unit, again, he said, "This is Captain Kevin Riley of the USS Blue Ridge. My crew and I are waiting for medical help in Landing Bay 2. Can anyone hear me?"

As Riley was about to turn around, a voice replied, "This is Science Officer Janeway of the USS Comfort. Our captain has been injured, sir, but I will have a medical team get to you ASAP."

"How about a short briefing on what the hell is going on?" Riley said.

"Captain Riley, I will send you a replay of the log for the last 20 minutes, sir. That should explain everything. While you and your crew are going over that, perhaps you could prepare a statement of your situation for Captain Chapel when she awakes, sir."

Riley smiled at the earnestness. "What is your rank, Science Officer Janeway?"

Janeway swallowed, "Ensign, sir."

"Good man, Janeway. Send me the information. We'll, uh, well, we'll wait here," Riley said. "One more question, Janeway. The war bird?"

Riley could definitely detect a smile in the voice, "Obliterated, Captain Riley."

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A soft, diffident voice interrupted Spock's thoughts.

"Amba—Captain Spock, sir, I brought you some refreshment. It has been 3.46 hours since your last repast." His personal aide, S'kyt, stood waiting with a tray of fruit and liquids.

Spock stood up, "Thank you, that is most—"

The Vulcan captain grabbed the side of his head and felt to his knees. For what seemed like an eternity, all Spock could see was darkness. A terrible sense of longing and fear swept over him.

S'kyt notified their medical officer at once. When she arrived, the young man whispered, "He simply collapsed and clutched his head. Why is he staying in that position?"

Entering the room, she placed her hands lightly against Spock's psi points. Managing to keep her composure, the Vulcan doctor, T'Spakek, pulled him out of the room and closed the door.

"Captain Spock is in some type of meld. Not a true meld, but a communication, nevertheless, and I am at a loss as to explain it. There have been no other similar incidents reported aboard ship."

She tilted her head in that quizzical way all Vulcans seemed to do. "Perhaps, the captain has a….bond….and if so, this is deeply personal. Leave. I will monitor him. Speak of this to no one, " T'Spakek ordered, her eyes telling him he would live to regret it if he did.

"Yes, doctor," S'kyt said, backing out of the room and allowing the door to close.

Blow Back: Chapter 4

Kevin Riley stepped from the Comfort's shuttle bay with relief obvious on his face. "Captain Chapel, good to see you."

She smiled back at him, but it was perfunctory. "You, too, Captain Riley. Let's take this reunion into a more private setting, shall we?"

"It's your ship, Captain Chapel. I am at your disposal," Riley smiled at her rakishly.

Christine couldn't stop the smile.

"Does anything make you feel down, Kevin?"

Riley replied, "Down implies, depressed. I am not depressed, Christine. What I am is angry." His voice changed timbre, "And you know what they say about the Irish; we forget everything but the grudges."

Christine shook her head in exasperation as she walked to the nearest lift. Riley started to ask her a question and she silenced him with a finger across her lips. He understood.

Reaching the bridge, order had resumed. Replacement personnel that had been necessary had arrived and patched-up personnel that were still necessary were continuing with what repairs they could manage. The dead had been removed.

Stepping onto the bridge, Chapel called for Ensign Janeway to join them in her ready room.

"At ease, Ensign Janeway. Did you have time to take care of the special project I asked you to do?" Chapel asked.

"Yes, ma'am, also, the sensors have been left on active scan and alert mode."

"Thank you, Ensign. Dismissed."

Before he walked out, Riley reached out and took him by the arm. "Janeway, huh?

"Yes, sir."

"If you get tired of Captain Chapel, there's always a place for you on any ship of mine. You're an impressive young officer."

Janeway blushed deeply, and said, "Thank you, Captain Riley."

The door swooshed shut behind him, and Chapel and Riley looked at each other.

Christine said, "I wasn't aware you had a ship at the moment."

Riley responded, "Now what?"

He made himself comfortable on the sofa; his weariness was evident. "Losing ½ my crew to an engineered bug was unexpected, but that war bird just jumping out of the Romulan Neutral Zone, now, that, was a hellava surprise.

They've been ahead of us every frakking step of the way! How do we know they're not eavesdropping now?" He was getting agitated, gesticulating angrily with his hands.

"Here," Christine turned from a small antique sideboard and handed him a glass.

"This will calm your nerves and give you something to do with your hands while I explain what I've learned thus far."

Christine sat at her desk, placed her feet on the corner and leaned back. Her injuries still throbbing though treated enough for the moment.

"I know they're not eavesdropping because that was Janeway's job. To make sure we aren't being listened to—at least in here. Yes, they were ahead of us. Yes, the sickness was a devastating development. A damn ghastly one at that. Nannites: placed in the replicators aboard your ship to insure everyone was infected." She involuntarily shuddered.

"So why aren't we all dead? All the crew of the Blue Ridge" Riley asked, sipping his whiskey.

"Beats me. Believe me, they were still active until you had all passed through the MDD (magnetic/defrag/deacon) unit, but I guarantee they're dead now," Christine said, blowing air out between her lips in frustration, and then, finally, taking a sip from her glass.

"Are you telling me the little bastards are still in there? Will they reactivate?" Riley was sitting up now.

"Hell, no. They'll pass out in your waste." She smiled an evil smile. "So the next time you take a whiz, wave bye-bye with the other hand."

Riley threw his head back against the sofa. "Hell, you've heard the rumors; I need both hands!"

They laughed, punch drunk with fatigue and worry.

"What now," Riley asked, once the moment passed.

"Well, it's no secret that they know we're here, that much is obvious," Christine said bluntly.

"Yea, I have a personal score to settle when we find this bitch and her friends," he said bitterly.

She swung her feet down off the desk and went to sit beside him on the sofa.

Leaning back and subconsciously mimicking his slouch, Christine said, "Did we destroy the war bird before or after its trip to Rura Penthe? Because we didn't get any life signs from our scans. Whatever they were using for shielding was damned effective. One of the only places you could have picked up that nannite infestation was at the terraforming colony; I am assuming you did a sweep before you set down?"

Riley turned his head, indignant, "Yes, we did a sweep, AND we did a sweep after we left, too. So what the hell does that tell us? They might have been programmed not to activate until the return trip."

"No, that's unlikely," Christine said, more to herself than him.

"How would they know exactly when you'd leave? Your schedule is unpredictable, moving to place to place with unexpected delays, taking on other loads to deposit at other locations. No, I have a strong feeling we're going to find something on that planet undergoing terraforming. There's always confusion, accidents, and plenty of unknown replacement personnel because of those who can't take the isolation. Plenty of ships like yours dropping off engineering equipment, personnel, and supplies. Lots of traffic, both humanoid and ship-wise to get lost in.

"A planet without a name, just a damn number. How apropos," Christine Chapel continued, bitterly. "Just like the collaborators, everywhere and nowhere. You want to know what that tells us: they've got some serious technology; deadly and resourceful allies; and they're still willing to sacrifice their lives or innocent lives to disrupt the peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. "

Christine got up and walked to a viewport. Her back was not as straight as usual, and she looked shaken. She closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her head.

Riley got up and stood behind her. She could see the reflection of him; his face was tense, sad, and tired. He looked like he wanted to say something to reassure her that their mission was not a failure. Not yet. She wasn't so sure.

Turning her back to the stars outside, Christine's face was sorrowful. She looked at the man she had known since he was a kid, really, and said softly, "Do you know how many of my crew are in body bags? How many doctors and nurses and scientists who signed on to work on a frakking HOSPITAL ship are lying dead?

They signed on to heal people, to help. Not to work undercover espionage! That's what I do," her voice was angry and getting loud. "I arrange the pieces on the chess board of the universe and predict scenarios, what has the BEST chance of success. Well, I didn't do a very good job of predicting what was going to happen here, did I?"

In her fury, she threw the highball glass across the room and accidentally into a small holo of McCoy and her, at her graduation from medical school. It crashed to the floor and turned dark, the image disappeared.

"What would Leonard McCoy say about my treatment of my crew? I'm a doctor, too, and of the minimum crew that I had assigned to cover the medical assignments at the starbases, over ½ of those are severely injured or dead. That many injured takes another ¼ of my crew to take care of medical responsibilities. So with your twenty-nine crew and my fifty that are left able to work this ship, we'll have all we can handle to keep her running and have a semblance of a crew rotation."

She pushed away from him and turned back to the viewport. Christine's voice was steady, all emotion in her seemingly vaporized, "I suggest you get some rest. My yeoman is on the bridge, waiting for you. She'll give you assigned quarters and anything else you need. Your crew is being taken care of, so don't worry about them for a while."

Riley went to leave, when Christine turned to look at him one last time before he left and said, "By the way, Captain Riley, I'm sorry, but you're getting a temporary battlefield demotion. My first officer was killed. You're my new XO. We'll meet in four hours and I want some suggestions on how to get back to that planet and find that nest of vipers." Christine's face was hard and her eyes as fierce as he'd ever seen them.

Riley tightened his jaw, "Understood, Captain. I'm looking forward to finding them. "

His new captain gave him a grim smile, "You know Kevin, the hell of it was—I was enjoying just being the captain. Not being in any kind of 'ops' except operating rooms."

"Christine, I suggest you also get some rest." Riley took one of her hands, and said, "This isn't like you. You've got to separate the mission from your feelings. You knew what the risks were when you were presented with the very slim possibility of capturing these people. They're slick, Christine. They're snakes, and they're crawling under every rock. But we're going to crawl after them. That's not what they're going to expect—us. We're going to keep coming at them."

He turned her hand loose and as he went through the doors to the bridge, her new XO said, "See you in four hours, Captain."

Finally alone, Christine watched the lights outside her viewport and wondered at what cost would they capture the traitors—or even slow them down. She had already sold her soul, sacrificed her ship. As far as she could see, her life was the last thing she had to lose.

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Spock was getting quite irritated with the doctor. "I am functioning perfectly well, and your prying into a personal matter is not going to assist me with my duties at the moment."

Dr. Spakek would not drop the subject. "I insist that you come to the medical bay and allow me to run scans to determine if your psychological—"

Captain Spock rose from his chair. "Doctor, you will return to your medical duties and concern yourself with the rest of the crew. As for my condition, I am having no ill effects. I am sure given time to meditate, I will figure out what caused the unexpected fugue like episode. I will not discuss this anymore at this time. If you wish to put me on report, then do so, but leave me. Now."

Spakek rose and wrapped herself in what shreds of dignity she had left.

Spock contacted his personal assistant and asked not to be disturbed unless there was something of significance to report.

The firepot in his quarters was in the back chamber where he slept. Kneeling, he began to calm himself, control his breathing, his heart's rhythm.

In short time, Spock had perspiration running down the sides of his aquiline face. Remembering the feelings of loss and fear was easy, but from where had they originated. Time had ceased to exist. His mind dissected times of his own fear and loss and who was close enough to him to cry out through a mental link and have it powerful enough for him to hear the cry. Jim. Christine. Valeris.

Blow Back: Chapter 5

Spock left his private quarters and walked onto the bridge. Unlike a human crew, there was no banter, no quiet jokes aboard the Vulcan ship. All was quiet and businesslike. Spock found it made it him somewhat edgy.

"Captain?" The communications officer's tone called for his attention. "We have a ship on sensors matching the configuration and Starfleet Identification Code, and EPISP (emergency positioning indicator subspace beacon) has been activated. It is the USS Comfort."

Spock said, "On screen. Magnify, please."

It should have been 1.46 hours before they reached the ships' last coordinates.

The forward view screen filled with the hospital ship. There was visible damage, including numerous burn marks down the sides of the sleek vessel. One nacelle was twisted and appeared to be in danger of falling off and damaging the hull integrity, and there was evidence of emergency hull integrity patches. There was no doubt that she had been engaged in fierce combat.

"Scan for life signs."

"Sir, they are running with shields up, but only on full impulse power. I cannot determine the number of crew aboard at this time."

"Scan for the USS Blue Ridge; use long range sensors. Science officer, take a reading of the weapons' trace left on the hull of the hospital ship," Spock ordered.

"Yes, Captain."

"Communications, open a channel to the Comfort and ask them to hold current position."

T'Pol's communications officer looked up and said, "Captain Spock, the USS Comfort is requesting that we transmit our Federation security ship identification code before they will drop shields, hold position, or open communication."

It was difficult to perplex one Vulcan, but an entire bridge crew was unheard of.

Spock did not turn back to look at her, he simply said, "Then do what they request, Lt. T'Solen."

"Yes, captain." A long minute passed, then "USS Comfort is acknowledging communication, sir, and she has cut impulse power and is station keeping."

"Understood, Lt. T'Solen; put him on screen," Spock said.

The view screen opened to reveal a very young human male officer. Spock's day of unexpected events had just begun.

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Ensign Janeway was waiting in the transporter room for Captain Spock. Spock! The young science officer didn't have time to dwell too much on hero worship before the very real Vulcan was stepping off the transporter platform.

"Captain Spock, sir, it is an honor. I am Ensign Thomas Janeway, in temporary command of this vessel."

"Permission to come aboard, Ensign," Spock asked without expression.

"Permission, granted, Captain." Janeway stepped forward. "If you would come with me, sir, I have information that Captain Chapel left for you."

Spock said nothing. He had already been informed that neither Chapel nor Riley was aboard the hospital ship and that the supply ship had been destroyed.

Chapel's ship's logs had been downloaded and viewed by Spock aboard the T'Pol.

Janeway stepped off the lift and directed Spock into Captain Chapel's ready room off the bridge. "Sir, if you will permit me, while you go over the data, I will remain on the bridge and send a message to your ship confirming that we are raising our shields and station keeping, as agreed, until you are ready to return."

"Thank you, Ensign Janeway. Please see that I am not disturbed."

"Yes, sir."

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Spock crossed the threshold into Christine Chapel's bridge office, or as it was now called, a "ready room." The Vulcan simply stood and absorbed the room; he could still smell her. Not perfume, her.

Her office was decorated with souvenirs and mementos of a woman that had saved and shared his life, and whom he hadn't seen in seven years. Seven years. Spock growled at himself; even a Vulcan could see the irony in that time frame.

A comfortable sofa, an antique cabinet of some sort that held drinks, old fashioned photographs pulled from vids of her and Uhura, McCoy, and Scout, her favorite dog, she'd had as a child. A shadow of a smile touched his face. She still had the collar looped over the holo. Maybe she was still considering cloning it.

He bent down and picked up another hologram frame that had been knocked off a table, and it flickered back to life. McCoy and Chapel at Starfleet Medical, her graduation. Spock had been there. She didn't see him, but he was there.

Spock moved to her desk. It had been cleared except for two data chips, both sealed into containers that if tampered with would destroy the contents. They were DNA locked and coded. Christine would have had no trouble getting his DNA.

He picked up the other disc. Admiral Janeway. Curiouser and curiouser.

Picking up his data disc, Spock held it long enough to verify the recipient and that he was alive at the time of receipt. She hadn't missed a trick. Whatever she had left was meant to be seen by his and Janeway's eyes only. Her official logs seemed to present no ill-advised action on her part during this last mission. Why she had left her own command voluntarily and absconded was the riddle. He had tried to reach Admiral Janeway, but the T'Pol could not get a transmission through for more than two minutes at a time. Spock believed they were on the perimeter of an area with dampening buoys to stop communications from leaving the area.

When Spock attempted to talk to Ensign Janeway, the young man had simply repeated his last orders from his captain and said that was all he knew. The ensign had complete trust in his captain and, if she had to leave the ship, it must be of paramount importance.

Ensign Janeway's orders had been to move at full impulse toward the nearest Federation base, keep shields at full strength and up at all times. She told him to make ANYONE, even his own grandfather, verify their ship's identification code. Janeway said that Chapel knew that he would take care of the ship and crew. He did. From the look on the young man's face, Spock believed he would have at the cost of his own life. Christine always did have good judgment—in most areas.

Spock inserted the disc into the computer on Christine's desk. It opened immediately. Before him was an attractive woman, indeterminate middle age, and short dark hair. Her face was almost devoid of lines or the damages of age. Her blue eyes burned with intensity.

"Spock." Christine smiled at him from the screen. "I had a 'vision' when I was unconscious on the bridge after the fight with the war bird. You were in it, perhaps it was an omen. I just felt that you would come. I know you don't buy into that." She shrugged, "But you know how superstitious I can be.

"I am sure you have already surmised by now that this was not a simple medical or rescue mission. Nor is my ship a regular hospital ship. Comfort is a culmination of numerous clandestine meetings, engineering and input by representatives from Starfleet, private science sectors, and the Klingon Empire as a defense against the same collaborators who nearly had Captain Kirk and Leonard killed on Rura Penthe, as well as the attack on the Klingon Chancellor.

There are many more of them than any of us imagined; it's actually a very dangerous underground racial purist movement. Admiral Cartwright died in that cold hell of a prison; most sentenced there shared the same fate, however," she paused as if she didn't want to continue, "There were a few who thrived and formed new alliances."

Christine looked down at her hands, briefly, then back into the computer's recorder. "Valeris, for example, virtually ran the prison for the last three years until we received word that she would be coming back into Federation space near the Romulan Neutral Zone. We had word from one of our deep cover agents that Valeris needed to get to Vulcan and would stop at nothing short of death to get there. Special Ops and Emergency Ops had been waiting and planning for such an opportunity."

Christine took a deep breath and continued, "I am sorry to tell you that she is free and most likely nearby. I think she plans to contact you somehow. Call it a hunch. I don't think I am lucky enough to have killed her in the war bird's destruction.

"I think the Klingon ship was meant to destroy the Blue Ridge if the nannite infestation didn't get the job done. Why they wanted it destroyed is beyond me. Perhaps it was a test run. These were biological nannites not mechanical. I didn't tell Captain Riley the truth about them. Secrets are hard to spill when you've spent your life keeping them, so I held this information to myself.

"These nannites had a 'life' time frame and after transmitting the sickness, they were programmed to waste away like biological material. If I hadn't managed to salvage several off a uniform, I wouldn't have known it. So once I scanned Riley's crew, the people left alive had not been infected at all, and the 'bug' was no longer present, nor could I tell if it had ever been in the survivors. The illness was actually a very virulent strain of botulism. Nasty way to die—and pretty damn effective.

"I can't see how an attack on a supply ship could further their goals or win them allies. It draws attention to any sector if a ship disappears, but I can't fathom their planning, and I can't understand their recruitment appeal at all." She leaned back and emitted a grim chuckle.

"Riley, three undercover Federation Marines from my crew, and I are taking one of my shuttles back to the last planet that Riley visited, a terraforming world.

"My shuttles have an advantage that is captain's eyes only. Each of them has a cloaking device and is equipped with two fairly powerful torpedoes, as well as standard phasers and medical equipment.

"I have to make this right. This clusterfuck of a mission. I recruited doctors and nurses for this ship, and many of them won't return home alive. I didn't seek out this mission. I can't tell you the specifics, but it fell to me to step up and command the ship that could perhaps capture Valeris or make a dent in the conspirators' network. But it…. grieves me that so many will not go back." Christine had to stop talking.

Regaining her composure, she continued, "Spock, I know you may feel compelled to come after me because of our history together. I want to make it clear that you owe me nothing. What I did for you," she swallowed, and her neck flushed, along with her cheeks, "What I did for you, I did of my own volition, because you are my Vulcan affliction-or affection. Even now, after almost twenty years, my feelings for you have never changed, so I'm fairly certain at this point they probably won't go away," she smiled a crooked smile.

"If it is within my power, and I am very good at my job, I will take care of Valeris. If you have a burning need to repay me for what I have done for you, then do not follow me. Take my ship and her crew back to safety. Give the information I left to Admiral Janeway, the second in command of this project. The mission is more important than I am. These traitorous murderers must be stopped, and I think it's past time for Valeris' terminal event.

"I ask you, as you va'prah." Words failed her again. "Please do as I ask. Return with my ship, take care of my crew, and the scales are even."

Christine smiled sadly and touched her fingers to the screen. "Live long and prosper, Spock."

The Vulcan didn't move from the chair, but instead he stared into her face, frozen on the screen. His stomach was clenched like fist. How could she use that word? Va'prah! His next thought was, "Why the hell wouldn't she?"

What had been set into motion could not be stopped at this point, Spock realized, but it could be ended; after all, everything has, at some point, a 'terminal event.'

Blow Back: Chapter 6

The T'Pol and Comfort were heading back into Federation territory and the more distance they put between them and the area where the two ships had first crossed paths, the clearer communications became.

Travelling at impulse, due to the hospital ship's engine damage, was frustrating to Spock; it slowed down contacting Admiral Janeway, which he did as soon as subspace channels were clear enough.

"Captain Spock," Admiral Janeway's demeanor was grave, but relief was evident in his face as well. "You found the Comfort and are bringing most of the crews back, I understand, including my son. Thank you."

"Do not thank me yet, Admiral. Your son, Thomas, is an extraordinary young man who would in all likelihood have safely returned the ship himself. He followed his captain's orders to the letter. His captain who also happens to be missing, along with Captain Riley. I think it is time that I know more about this mission, which I am beginning to doubt was anything but an emergency."

Spock had an air of terrible hostility about him. He was a man who had reached his limit with fabrications and deceptions.

Janeway pulled back involuntarily from the screen, "Captain, I don't know—"

"Spare me, Admiral. I know everything. I know about the alliance to stop the Khitomer traitors, Valeris' escape, and the construction of a hospital ship with comparable lethal capabilities of a heavy cruiser. Wasthere an emergency, Admiral? Did you deliberately set up Blue Ridge as a sacrificial lamb as a way to get Comfort into position to destroy the traitors? And Captain's Chapel and Riley? Are they expendable as well? Will the ends will justify the means?"

Spock was filled with an unspeakable rage, and it emanated from him without his raising his voice or altering his facial expressions.

Admiral Janeway had heard of the Vulcan's loyalty to his human friends and shipmates, and he was glad he was on the other side of the screen. Spock's human rage and passion combined with his Vulcan strength and the captain could easily tear him limb from limb. The hell of it was, Spock was as seemingly stoical as any Vulcan, visibly, but Janeway recognized anguish and wrath for what they were—human or Vulcan.

"Did Captain Chapel leave a data chip for me?" Janeway asked.

"Yes," Spock answered. "As well as one for me."

Janeway seemed to dwell on that before saying, "Then I guess the rumors I always heard about the two of you were true. I have to give the pair of you credit because I never believed it until she was selected for the captaincy of the Comfort."

Spock's voice deepened and he said harshly, "My 'relationship' with Christine Chapel is none of your business, Admiral, and it has nothing to do with the predicament at hand."

"Captain Spock, it has everything to do with this mission." When he saw Spock's look of doubt, Janeway said, "You didn't know. She didn't tell you."

"Admiral, I have had enough of playing Special Ops games with you. What are you talking about?"

"You," Janeway said grimly. "You, Captain Spock, were the first choice to lead this mission. All sides were anxious to approach you. They felt that your prior 'relationship' to you protégé would give you a better chance to infiltrate the movement and find Valeris."

The old man shook his head. "When she was sentenced, you weren't there. She promised the judges and all present that she had a special 'bond' with you and you would never leave her to die on Rura Penthe. She did her best to convince us to investigate you and have you tried as a collaborator. Only Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy, and the influence of Sarek kept an intense investigation from being instigated against you. She claimed when you violated all the ethics of a Vulcan by forcing her into a meld, you became a criminal according to Vulcan law, and beyond that, now had an unbreakable bond with her. "

Hell, Spock, she even insisted that you would join her on Vulcan to help her sweep through the galaxy with her crazy ideas of racial purity. She said you of all people knew the damage that mixing races caused for one individual torn between two peoples."

Spock's eyes were terrible to behold, "We know that her statement wasn't true. So why wasn't I contacted to lead the mission; there is a certain logic to it, but I am not sure I would have considered it at the time."

"Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel, and Jim Kirk all said you would be the best choice, but they also felt you had been compromised because of the forced mind meld. Besides that, Valeris was a pathological liar and a master manipulator and would have placed the idea in our heads deliberately, so that later, we would think of doing exactly what we almost did—ask you to command the Comfort. Then her people would simply wait to capture you. There is no doubt she would have tried to do to you what you were forced to do to her to save lives. I doubt she would have felt anything about it. She probably would have ripped your mind to shreds. Who knows what technology she has access to, new or old. "

Spock leaned back, trying to absorb the drama that had surrounded him without his knowledge.

He asked, "Why was Christine Chapel appointed the captaincy?"

Janeway looked at him with compassion in his eyes, "Jim Kirk. She had Emergency Op experience, studied on Vulcan, and was hard assed enough to take Valeris out, and, honestly, was not reluctant to do it."

The admiral looked at Spock thoughtfully, "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I am not sure that Chapel and Kirk had not worked out some sort of agreement to keep you at a safe distance from Valeris.

"As for the Blue Ridge, as far as we knew, it was a legitimate emergency, and since the Comfort was ahead of schedule, it was a natural and simple way to get close to the area where our intel was predicting Valeris would be trying to get back into Federation space, and from what I have seen of Captain Chapel's logs, both Riley and Chapel took proper action. In order to save lives Captain Chapel sent her ship back and then proceeded on with the mission. The covert weapons and defenses of her ship would have been known and transmitted from the war bird thereby compromising the safety of the rest of her crew, not to mention the possibility of falling into enemy hands."

Spock asked, "You didn't tell me about the mission. Why? Was I still considered a potential weak link? Still considered a possible traitor?"

"No," said Janeway, shaking his head. "I knew there was a strong possibility of it being more than a medical emergency, but giving you that information would have had to come from someone with a higher authority than me. If I had thought you were a risk, I wouldn't have contacted you, Captain Spock, but Captain Chapel has taken that decision out of my hands now."

Spock steepled his fingers, and contemplated what the Admiral had said.

"Admiral Janeway, I am sending the T'Pol on ahead with the information that Captain Chapel left for you; it can travel at warp speed, and, possibly, the data could give you more intelligence to save lives or help capture the conspirators. Could you arrange for an escort to meet the Comfort until it reaches the nearest Federation star base?"

"What do you mean, you're sending it on," Janeway asked. "Where are you going?"

"I have an idea of where Captains Chapel and Riley may be headed. I think I will have a better chance to find them by traveling alone, and, in addition, I will have an advantage since I am closer to where they left the ship. I will borrow one of the shuttles from Comfort and get in touch with you as soon as I have found something. If that meets with your approval, sir."

Janeway said, wearily, "I think that's the best chance we have of not losing Chapel and Riley and of catching Valeris, if she made it this far."

"Never underestimate the determination and pathological obsession of a zealot. I failed to see it right in front of me once before; trust me. It won't happen again."

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Christine's eyes flashed open when her head was jerked up by her hair, hard.

"Hello, Dr. Chapel." Valeris' eyes were shockingly merry as she knelt to look into Christine's bruised and bloody face.

The Vulcan woman hadn't aged much, but there was a nasty raised scar that went from her left eyebrow to the left corner of her upper lip. On her forehead where her dark black hair used to come to a type of widow's peak, there was no hair because a patch of her scalp about the size of a tablespoon was missing.

"Thank you for joining me on my trip to Vulcan, Doctor Chapel. Do have any idea how many times that I have seen you in my mind, experiencing the Pon Farr with Spock, knowing that he loved you, but never told you. He imagined 786 times if his father felt the same about his mother yet never told her," she angrily spat. The hand in her hair tightened.

The pain in Christine's head was making her nauseous or maybe it was whatever she had been dosed with; please, God, don't let it be nannites, she prayed. Forcing herself to concentrate on Valeris, the doctor looked at her eyes and could detect nystagmus and streakiness.

"I saw it all you human whore!" Valeris slapped her and spittle and blood flew out of Christine's mouth. "When we get to Vulcan, I am going to darken the red Vulcan sand with your red human blood. Then I will see ME through his eyes. Do you understand?"

She shook Christine's head violently. "Do you hear me, whore?"

Christine didn't answer because she was blessedly unconscious.

Blow Back: Chapter 7

*Two weeks before the 'death' of James T. Kirk

The warm Grecian sun reflected off the white stone of the private villa that Spock had been sharing periodically with Christine Chapel for close to 21 years. The vibrant blue of the sea was electric and the sounds of the water crashing below on the rocks was powerful, though muted because the house was high above it. Decoration and furniture was minimalist, simple lines with colors of the sea and grasses, placed for strategic viewing and beauty against the white interior. Only a handful of personal items belonging to either of them occupied the house: a few paintings, an antique clock, books protected from the sea and heat, and roses, all of them shades of pink, red, or orange were planted in large local pottery and painted with Vulcan symbols.

The house had one large bedroom. Since no one knew about the house, and no one had ever been invited there, that wasn't a problem. On the bed, lay two people, one with dark hair and one with very dark hair, both of them sleeping soundly from exhaustion.

From his first Pon Farr aboard the Enterprise, Christine had been the one to save his life, unknown, both believed, to anyone else; however, friends are observant and simply because something isn't mentioned doesn't mean it isn't known or talked about privately. Spock had been wrong about the fear of killing Kirk taking the urges away. In the early morning hours, he had gone to Christine, who by now already knew what was happening.

Thus began the coupling that would become regular and at times irregular. Theirs was a puzzling relationship to comprehend, even to them. Like so many couples throughout the centuries, regardless of romantic literature to the contrary, Christine and Spock did not discuss their feelings or whys or wherefores. They just accepted their perplexing union.

Of course, every seven years, give or take due to Spock's mixed heritage, they had to meet, regardless of what was happening in other places. Something that was never explained to Christine, but she learned on her own, was that as they both aged the Pon Farr's were not as violent but still primal and quite vigorous. What did not change was the element of life or death.

Christine awoke slowly; the light was not quite so bright in here. The cool ocean breeze blew through the open casement windows, bringing the scent of flowers and intense junipers from outside. She looked over at the Vulcan sleeping soundly.

He always looked so very peaceful when he slept deeply, which she thought only occurred during his "time." She rolled to her side, the white sheet sliding off her top half.

Christine gently outlined the sides of his face and trailed her fingers down the side of Spock's neck, then across his shoulder, she continued under the sheet covering him. He was fully aroused. There was definitely an upside, she smiled to herself, to sleeping with a Vulcan male.

Unexpectedly, Spock's eyes flew open and, he rolled her over and pinned her on her back. Traces of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. His eyes were bright and wanting, yet he gently nudged her legs apart with his knee, releasing her hands simultaneously. Spock softly touched her lips with his, slowly at first, then as Christine felt them become as one, she returned his kisses passionately, pulling him to her, craving more of him.

Just as suddenly as he began, Spock stopped and held her head, looking down at her strangely, and whispered, "You are an enigma, Christine, and a gift from a usually indifferent universe." She suddenly felt flooded with an ache, a wanting, so powerful that it was almost physical. Once again, he kissed her, holding her face between his hands, taking his time slowly, over and over.

He pulled back, eyes shining, acted as if he wanted to say more, but she involuntarily moved beneath him, and he was lost in her again.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX ~

Four weeks after Kirk's 'death':

Christine had gone to ground, in their home above the Aegean Sea. The roses that Spock had so carefully tended, taken from his mother's garden on Vulcan were flourishing, all the colors of a magnificent fiery sunset. Fiery like Vulcan. Red like Vulcan. Vulcan like Spock. In her heart she knew he would not return until forced to do so.

Then what? For the first time she was discontent. Was she that disposable? Jim Kirk had always taken precedence over her. It wasn't a bitter thought; it was just truth. Now that he was gone, Spock would never risk caring that deeply for anyone again. Some pain runs too deeply, too close to the bone and heart.

Some thought that Valeris' betrayal had broken him. Christine knew better. He had admired her, and longed, still yet, to move as easily as she did between worlds and cultures, and she was a full Vulcan. But Valeris was all pretense and even he was fooled by it, and that's what hurt Spock the most.

Through their piecemeal bonding she knew he was alive, but for her own sake, Christine was glad she couldn't feel his grief, for it would be colossal, and more than she could bear right now.

She could not afford to be foolish and rash. She needed time to think. Decisions had to be made and her complicated emotions dealt with; everything was graver now that another life was involved.

SSS/CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC/

Six weeks later, Christine finally confided to McCoy, sort of. As Leonard sat on his porch drinking ice water, he calmly asked her how far along she was in her pregnancy.

She looked up, her blue eyes large. "How did you know? Did you scan me without my knowledge?"

He could see she was getting that straight lined, angry mouth.

"No, but when a woman regularly sits in a rocker and her hands are clasped protectively over her belly, it doesn't take a doctor to figure it out—just an old man with a vast knowledge of women," her old friend smiled as he said it.

Christine didn't answer, dropped her gaze.

"You do know whose it is, don't you?" McCoy prodded, already knowing the answer.

Her blue eyes flashed like lightning, "Of course, I know whose it is! It's Sp—," she cut herself off at the last second but it was too late.

McCoy did that mouth thing he always does when he's not surprised, but not happy that he's right. He kept rocking and sipping as if had never been mentioned, allowing her space and time.

A while later, Christine got up to go inside and opened the door, but paused and looked at him through the old screen wire, and said, "I'm sorry for being touchy. I haven't told anyone and was trying to figure out how to tell you when I'll be damned if you haven't already nailed me."

"Nailed you," McCoy laughed, "Darling, getting 'nailed' is what got you into this."

Christine really laughed for the first time since she'd arrived two days ago. "I'm going for nap, doctor. When I get up, since I am eating for two, how about some seafood tonight down at the Savannah pier. I'm buying."

"Sounds delightful. I'll wake you when I am ready to eat, woman. Go rest."

She smiled and let the door slam shut behind her.

McCoy set his glass on the table after pouring out 3/4ths of the water and reached down beside his chair. Opening a flask of bourbon, he filled the glass. He took a deep deep drink and leaned back against his chair, closing his eyes, and said to himself, "Well don't that just set the cat's hair afire."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR

-Chapter 8

- Blow Back: Chapter 8

Riley carefully wiped the blood off of Christine's face, being careful around the open cuts, and they were numerous around her mouth. He rinsed the cool cloth and placed it across her swollen eyes.

The room in which she lay was more lik cell than a room. It held a cot, a bucket, and Christine. She was still unconscious from the first beating she received from Valeris. Chapel had been unconscious for over two hours, and Riley was seriously beginning to worry.

The door to the room slid open to reveal Valeris. For a Vulcan, Riley thought, she was the angriest looking, not to mention the craziest, person that he'd ever met; she was usually so cool and calculating. This jealous anger directed at Christine, Riley just didn't get. Unfortunately, she was also one of the most intelligent and Machiavellian.

"How is the Federation whore?" She asked, running her fingers through her now long black hair.

Riley rose, exasperated with her. "If you wanted to fight her in some Vulcan ceremony, then you should have left her in fighting shape. This-" Riley gestured to Christine, "Is not honorable. But I guess you're a little beyond that at this point; you'll take a win however you can get it. Is that because you've lost so much?" Riley almost snarled the statement.

"Tut, tut, now Captain Riley. If you hadn't given up the position of your shuttle, a cloaked shuttle, may I add, Dr. Chapel might never have been in this position." She smiled vaguely, a smug look, crossed her face, "Oh, yes, she would, just not as quickly." Valeris stepped in closer to Riley, "So don't go all human on me with your guilt now."

Riley swallowed hard. "I told you from the outset that I didn't want anyone else hurt; that was my one stipulation to helping you. You killed half my crew!"

"A test, Captain Riley, merely a test."

"Fucking tests don't usually kill thirty people, you twisted crone. And this vendetta or grudge that you have against Dr. Chapel makes me wonder about your sanity or whatever the hell is left of it," he said. Kevin was almost nose to nose with her, "How much bullshit is all this Vulcan emotional control because you don't seem to have much."

Like a cobra's strike, Valeris' hand grabbed Riley around the throat and lifted him slightly from the ground, "Don't trifle with me, human. I will snap your neck like a twig; I don't care how much I might need you."

On the cot, Christine moaned, coming awake.

Dropping him to his feet, Valeris stepped back and out of sight. "Just do your job, Captain."

Riley coughed trying hard to get his breath back. He was sure there were nail marks in his neck where she had crushed his throat. The bitch was strong; he'd give her that, but the bitch was seriously unhinged.

"Riley?" Christine's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm here, Christine. I'm here. Have some water." He tilted a glass up to her mouth while helping her hold her head up.

"God, I am so thirsty. How did she know where we were? There's no way she didn't know without help." Even weak, her eyes were hard as sapphires, "Was it you? Did you tell her?"

********************************************XXXX

Spock onboard the shuttle Spartacus was pushing it to limits of its performance. Seven years ago. Valeris' had appealed to him strongly then, now he knew why. In all his adult cycles, there was one woman he craved or required, and that was not Valeris. Now he understood why he had been so drawn to her during the period surrounding the Khitomer Conference. She was unbonded. What had she done during her time in jail, during the trial? She would have had a surrogate. It could not have been denied her, according to the Federation's Geneva Convention IV rules. But now, Valeris was headed to Vulcan because she thought Spock would be waiting for her there to finally consummate their (in her mind) long delayed bond.

As Spartacus travelled over eight times the speed of light, Spock was unaware that there was a grim, harsh turn to his mouth, actually his entire face. He would make sure she was not disappointed by his absence.

******************************************XXXXXXXXXXXX

Six years, five months ago.

Sweat streamed from Christine's face and blood covered the white stone floor. Her blood, red blood.

Leaving McCoy, she had travelled back to Greece. He had recommended a good ob/gyn that specialized in cross species births. So far so good, she smiled, standing at the window looking out at the ocean's churning waves. A storm was brewing, black clouds and high winds and tides. Small sightseeing boats and fishing vessels heading for port. Still, Christine thought how magnificent the storm was. She felt safe here; her home had lasted for well over a thousand years, and barring an Earth shattering disaster would last a thousand more.

Suddenly both nausea and a lower abdominal pain hit her simultaneously. A cramping that took her breath away. As she bent over, she noticed rich red blood running down the inside of both her legs. Another agonizing pain brought her to her side on the cool stone floor. When she awoke, she was surrounded by a pool of crimson, and she knew that she was hemorrhaging to death. No one knew where she was. Spock! No! She thought angrily. He was searching for Kirk, and she was forgotten. A Penelope waiting for her Odysseus but was her lover fighting to come home or still fighting for his king. She felt she knew the answer, but didn't want to know for sure.

The pain was both torture and heartbreak; her daughter was lost. "Oh, God, help me," she screamed, almost mad with pain and loss. "Help me, please." Christine lay her head back down on the cool stone.

Leonard!

Crawling to the comm unit on kitchen wall, she pressed the home code for Leonard McCoy. A recording came on, his craggy face smiling, "I am so sorry to have missed your communique, but please leave a message. In an emergency, please call my personal or hospital communicator," the codes repeated for both. Hitting his hospital code she activated an emergency beam out beacon so he could find her. Only from McCoy would she accept help. She would not accept Spock, not now. She and their daughter were dying. Christine hoped she never saw his Vulcan visage again. He could serve his dead king for the rest of his life.

Reaching into her emergency medical bag, always kept on a lower shelf near the table, she pulled out two things: a strong pain killer and a tocolytic, to try to slow the contractions.

Sh e was completely unaware of her beam out to Atlanta Obstetrics where Leonard McCoy waited with a team to try to save their lives.-

Blow Back: Chapter 9

"This is VSS Seleya requesting orbital permission to enter Vulcan atmosphere and land at the T'layak Science Station."

"This is Vulcan Planetary Transport and Atmospheric Control. Please transmit your security code."

A Romulan woman keyed in the correct sequence.

"VSS Seleya has permission to enter our planetary atmosphere and land at the T'layak Station."

Valeris smiled. The dead crew of the hijacked Vulcan science vessel completely forgotten. Without looking away from the forward screen and the red and orange planet, she said, "T'Kennek, you know what to do."

"Yes, Valeris." The helmsman brought the vessel in as if it was going to land at the science station, abruptly breaking away, and once over the mountain, cloaked the ship. Flying barely above ground level, which wasn't a problem in the desert here, the small ship landed at Mount L'Qeyas, an ancient Vulcan archaeological site.

Assembling a small landing party, their leader addressed them. "There will be less than six students and an instructor here. Do not kill them. Subdue them and secure them in one of the caves. We do not have enough personnel to guard them. Give them food and water, then establish a force field."

Tak, a Klingon, asked, "Why not just kill them? They are merely an annoyance, nothing more."

Valeris allowed a ghost of a smile play across her lips. "Yes, but they may be needed later as bargaining chips, and I shall have need of the instructor. She is also a priestess and I plan to make use of her knowledge of the old ways."

She looked around her band of rogues. "Any other questions? Good. Let us proceed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXX^^&********************

6.5 years earlier

Christine slowly climbed out of the deep sleep that had claimed her. As her mind came awake, her hands instinctively went to her abdomen. The baby! The baby was there. She sucked in a deep breath, emotion overwhelming her. Thank God! Her baby had not been lost. Hot tears trailed down onto her pillow when she turned toward the window, cradling the fetus in her belly protectively. She sobbed in gratitude.

She heard her room door open behind her and soft footsteps of someone entering the room. Leonard McCoy sat down in the chair in front of the window, in her direct line of sight.

"Good morning, beautiful." Gesturing with a tilt of his head, he said, "Your bio-monitors alerted me that you were finally awake." He leaned back in the chair, dark smudges passing for circles under his eyes. His clothes looked slept in.

"My baby," Christine whispered. "She's still here?"

McCoy smiled tiredly. "She's still there. She's a tough little knot-head; I'll give her that."

"Is she going to be okay from here on out?" Christine asked worriedly.

Her old friend leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. He did not smile and his tone was grave. "Christine, there are chromosomal abnormalities that will most likely cause you to have an unpreventable miscarriage. We, the other doctors and I, can tweak and work our genetic magic only so far, but the fact is, there are some things that can't be fixed by a medicine. This pregnancy wasn't planned; your body wasn't ready to be mother to an infant with mixed parentage. It is not anything you did or didn't do. Things happen. Birth control still fails. Life has a way of not following the order of things, no matter how much we like to think that we can control everything around us. Spock is a humanoid marvel, a true hybrid, and we have learned a great deal since his conception. Your child should have had better odds at surviving than her father did. The problem is that Spock has a number of chromosomes that are different from humans and different from Vulcans; he has his own unique set, which were genetically modified.

"Your daughter's chromosomes do not match exactly human or Vulcan or Spock's. We are in uncharted territory here. Unless we find Spock, get him back here for some tests, the baby might not have a chance."

McCoy leaned back, exhausted by the emotion that the explanation had taken. He knew he was crushing Christine's heart and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"Leonard, I don't know where he is. Even if I wanted to get in touch with him, I wouldn't know how." The doctor had tried to keep her tone neutral but McCoy recognized the vein of desperation running through her.

"I was afraid of that," Leonard replied. At her surprised look, he said, "I've tried to get in touch with him myself, to check on him. I've put out feelers everywhere I know, including contacts at the Federation Council, Vulcan Embassy, and Starfleet. No one knows anything. It's like he's vanished, just like Jim."

Leonard got up and sat down on the side of Christine's hospital bed. "I'm sorry." He brushed her hair back from her face. "You have some options. The odds are not with you that the baby will survive, and even if she does, she may have severe disabilities, which may or may not be correctable with genetic engineering. Right now, with her still developing, it's a risk to try. We may cause more damage than good."

Christine closed her eyes, "I know what you're trying not to say. I am not aborting this baby. I am going to give her every chance." She began to sob, "Dammit, she deserves that, doesn't she?"

Leonard McCoy slid over into the small bed with her and held her while she cried. Finally, she stopped and there was silence.

"So I live my life waiting every day for her to die. Is that what you're saying?"

He pulled her up so he could look in her face. "No. You live your life expecting her to live and being grateful at the end of the day when she does. Every single day that you can keep her inside you gives her another chance at life. And you are not going back to the other side of the world, woman. You're coming to live with me. Period. Either that or you stay abed here for the rest of your pregnancy."

She started to speak and he held up his hand. "Stop. I have already turned in an extended leave form. It's a done deal. Pack a bag. You're a McCoy for the next few months, give or take."

"Thank you." She smiled and her eyes glistened with tears.

"Don't thank me. You're going to have to listen to me all that time. I 've been dying for a captive audience and a fishing buddy." McCoy pulled her close again, "It's going to be fine. You're not going to be alone; I promise."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX&&&&&&^&&&&********************

Spock had been monitoring Vulcan Planetary Communications since he had arrived twenty-two hours before Valeris' ship. He was not surprised by her plan; it was supremely logical and devious.

Valeris would need a priestess to break whatever slight bond he and Christine shared before they could properly bond along with an isolated location. Near the science station was a ruin that would serve quite well. A cloaked vessel, he was sure she had at her disposal, would be out of sensors' ability to find them.

Valeris could just kill Christine. Spock did not think she would. He believed that Valeris wanted him to hurt. She would use Christine to force him to bond with her and would use the doctor's safety as leverage.

Spock knew that Valeris was going to kill Christine no matter what happened. In her deranged mind, Spock should have been hers. He was extremely concerned for Christine's well-being, physical and mental. What would Valeris do to extract information to use against him from the human woman?

Spock feared that he already knew the answer. Nothing would keep Valeris from getting what she wanted; nothing could be ruled out when dealing with a Vulcan sociopath.

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Blow Back: Chapter 10

Riley led Christine Chapel from the war bird out into the heat of the night, then down into the coolness of an opening of one of the dig sites. The drug in her system had mostly worn off, but the bruises and cuts were conspicuous against her light skin, even in the dim lighting.

Riley helped her down onto a blanket that been previously used by one of the students, where she leaned against an ancient retaining wall.

"Stay here. Try not to draw any attention to yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Christine looked up at him, anger and betrayal in her face. "I don't need anything from you."

Riley said nothing else; he simply turned away and disappeared into the darkness. He's going to find his succubus, she thought, disgusted.

She leaned her head back against the packed dirt, thinking she was alone, so when the light footsteps on the sand came from the darkness, Christine jerked slightly. She didn't bother to turn her head, but she tensed ready to move if need be to protect herself.

An elderly Vulcan female dressed in a work coveralls came silently toward her. Christine noticed a medical kit in her hands when she sat down.

"You look in need of medical treatment; may I assist you?" The Vulcan was tiny compared to Christine, probably not over 5'4" and under a hundred pounds.

"Thank you, but you may earn ill will from my captors."

"I care not for their "will," ill or otherwise." Reaching into her case, she removed a hypo and injected Christine with it. "Tri-ox. I have noticed that humans have difficulty breathing here on Vulcan, especially here in the mountains. Are you in pain? There is evidence that you have been mistreated."

"I may have some broken ribs. Do you have a medical tricorder?" Christine asked.

Her answer was to remove one and scan the human with it. "No ribs broken, but severely bruised. May I?" She held up the hypo again.

Christine nodded, and then whispered, "Thank you." Her head began to clear immediately as the pain subsided. "May I ask your name?"

"T'Lar. I am the lead archaeologist here. My students have been imprisoned inside one of the other ruins. I was not, but I was warned they would be harmed if I attempted to leave or communicate with anyone outside here. How did you come to be imprisoned by these people?" she asked, slightly tilting her head forward. "They are indeed a motley crew, and I recognize the traitor, Valeris."

Christine laughed low and without humor, "I was sent to help capture them. Obviously I failed to complete my mission."

"Yet you are still alive. What does the guhsh need from you? She must have a reason to keep you alive, is this not so?"

"I have someone that she wants, or so she says. I probably would have begged to differ if asked," Christine said sarcastically. The doctor turned her face away, "I am sure you recognize that it's not appropriate to speak of my time with my….." Christine trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence or to explain to this peculiar Vulcan female the problems of human/Vulcan relationships.

"You are the mate of a Vulcan male. Are you bonded?" T'Lar's dark eyes narrowed.

Christine's fighting spirit returned, "Are you in agreement with Valeris that race mixing is appalling and worthy of espionage, betrayal, and murder? Are you're willing to kill for it?"

"Your anger is misdirected and not productive. I am not in agreement with her views; they violate the principle of IDIC and the tenets of the teachings of Surak. Do not attack the person who offers to pull you from the den of the sehlat."

T'Lar's calm and unassuming tone and demeanor shamed Christine. "I am sorry. I was—I am ashamed to tell you of my arrangement, I suppose. Spock, of the House of Sarek...we are partially bonded. We never completed the bond. Valeris has strong emotions regarding Spock, and as you can see," indicating her injuries, "She has no problem expressing them."

"If my observations are correct, Valeris is late in the first stage of Pon Farr. If she has had a strong meld also with Spock then she could be drawn to him, as she does not appear to be bonded. If not, she knows that he will not be drawn here to her; you are her "lure," as you humans would say. Spock will come for you. I do not think that he will bond to her willingly. If your life is in jeopardy because he refuses, it is not logical to agree, for she will surely kill you after the ceremony. I understand now why I have been allowed my freedom. She wishes me to bond her with an unwilling partner."

"T'Lar, is that even possible? Could Spock not shield his mind to prevent that from happening?" Christine asked, aghast.

"Spock has studied with the Masters at Gol. Yes, he could prevent this bonding and she would not know until I was finished with the ceremony, but she would know. In her current state, it is highly probable that she will kill you both, and take one of her crew temporarily to save her life, but not complete the bond."

T'Lar peered at her in the dim light. "May I ask you, have you felt Spock was nearby?"

Christine shook her head. "I've been so drugged that I wouldn't have known if he was on the cot with me, however, I have felt strongly that he would come. I don't know how, but I knew he would come if—when—I disappeared." She dropped her head, unable to explain more.

T'Lar said, "I may be able to help you find him if he is near for you surely need his help. Will you allow it?" The elderly Vulcan woman believed there was more to the bond between the two than the human woman realized.

Christine looked at her, and asked, "Is it dangerous? How would you accomplish this?"

"I may do so in less time than an explanation." She hesitated until the human woman nodded her head reluctantly. T'Lar placed her hand, wrinkled from age and hard labor, against Christine's psi points.

It was as if the elderly Vulcan was an amplifier and Christine's mind opened like a flower with tendrils that reached out farther than she had ever imagined.

************XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX********************

Waiting in the shuttle had not been easy, but it had given him time to meditate and try to search for some trace of Christine in his mind. As time and experiences with her poured through his mind like sand through a screen, something akin to guilt began to surface. He had not made an effort to see her in many years. She knew he would return in time, but to treat her in such a way was disgraceful and cheated her of a reliable and fulfilling relationship in her life.

Surprisingly, Spock also realized that he had missed her. He had burrowed into work, anything that took him away from Earth and his intense loss. He realized now the futility of his behavior. It did not ease his pain or make it go away faster. In fact, Spock was realizing that his behavior may have been cowardly in nature. This was not easy an easy thought to entertain, especially if you were a proud Vulcan.

Now that Valeris' stolen ship had landed, Spock at last could act. Spartacus was a much smaller vessel and harder to track cloaked. He estimated he had between two and three hours until planetary security reached his location.

Spock set the shuttle down ½ kilometer from the ruins and set out immediately on foot.

In the distance he could see a faint light emanating from the direction of the ruins.

Suddenly, he sensed more than saw movement to his right.

Dropping down behind a cluster of large boulders, he waited. It didn't take long. A large Klingon male walked past him carrying a phaser rifle. On patrol, Spock imagined, most likely for him.

Once the Klingon had walked by, silently he continued his trek toward the ruins. Spock hadn't traversed twenty feet when a tremendous impact struck him from behind knocking him face down into the dirt. The Klingon's arm around his neck was cutting off his air and forcing his face further down into the sand.

Rolling to the side, he managed to throw his attacker onto his back. Snapping his head backwards into the Klingon's face, he inflicted enough pain to spring free. Tearing something loose from his attacker's belt that had felt pressed into his back, Spock swung around brandishing a massive knife.

The Vulcan pressed the blade into the Klingon's throat. "Where are the Starfleet captains, Chapel and Riley?"

Tak grunted obscenities in Klingon about Spock's parentage.

Spock pressed the blade deeper into his throat, "Where is—"

A blinding flash of Christine in agony on the floor of their Grecian home surrounded by blood ripped through his mind like an ice pick into his ear. He lost his balance, falling off the Klingon, as if stunned. Images assailed him. Crimson blood. Screaming. McCoy. Christine begging for him to return to save—a baby!

His stomach was sick and he began to retch as the Klingon struck him in the side of his head, and kicked him in the side time and again.

No amount of physical pain could wipe the anguish he experienced through Christine's eyes. What had he done? By not choosing he had chosen, and he had chosen badly. Finally, darkness quieted his mind and his conscience.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Blow Back: Chapter 11

Spock could hear voices and sense beings moving around him, but it took great difficulty to ascertain who was nearby. He did understand that he was restrained onto a slab of stone for he could not move his arms or legs.

He felt a hand on his leg caressing his thigh, trailing slowly across his genitalia, his abdomen and finally his chest. Valeris. Spock could detect incredible lust and anger. Her hand gripped him by the chin firmly.

"There is no need to trifle with me, Captain Spock; I know you are awake," she purred, leaning over him.

Spock's voice was dry and raspy. "I have no desire to interact with you in any manner, trivial or otherwise. Being in your presence again is enough to make me regretful of ever knowing your name."

He noticed her pupils were dilated and he respiration rate was high.

"Oh, Spock," she whispered, allowing her long inky hair to trail across his face, "Don't be a poor loser. Are you still holding a grudge over that Khitomer Conference because I made fools of you and—what was his name? James Tiberius Kirk, lately of….nowhere. I am so sorry that you have to play alone now."

Spock's voice was hard as titanium, "What do you want, Valeris? There is a high probability that I would be dead if you did not need something." He was going to force her to voice her need.

Instead, she rose and spoke to someone out of Spock's line of sight, "Bring her."

His face was perfectly expressionless, but his stomach was knotted. He knew who she meant without seeing.

Christine was shoved into the side of stone on which he lay, barely into of his line of vision

Valeris clutched Christine by the back of the neck and forced her head forward so he could see her better. Bruised and battered, Christine's face was as impassive as his own and her eyes cold.

"I'll give you two a few minutes alone to get reacquainted." Valeris walked back toward the ship, motioning for her murderous minions to follow.

"Christine," his dry throat croaked out her name. "How badly are you hurt?"

Without a change in her countenance, she said, "I won't die from my injuries."

They stared at each other. Two minutes turned into five, then, "Christine, take my hand." She did not move. "Christine, please take my hand."

Her long fingers reached out for his; her hand was cold, not cool, icy. The moment their flesh touched, Christine's knees started to buckle. She leaned against the stone and clasping his hand fiercely with hers, she steadied herself. Leaning over him, she touched the side of his head with her free hand.

"My, God!" She whispered. "My, God! Where have you been? Do you know-?"

"I have been a fool, Christine. Refusing to face my grief and loss of Jim, refusing to face my love for you."

She did not answer, but tears ran down her face. While rubbing his cheek with her hand softly, she said, "Valeris is going to kill us both unless you bond with her. She is going to kill me regardless. Save your life. Do this for me. I can't watch you die, too."

Spock's hand began to crush hers. In a furious low voice he said, "Do you believe I would do such a vile thing to save my life. I would die a thousand deaths before I would mount that hyalit hul'a and sell my soul to her."

Fury filled his face. "How little do you think of me?"

"You're hurting me," Christine tried to jerk her hand away but could not.

"Come closer," he said, this time softer, releasing his grip on her hand from his as he gathered up his rage. "Do we have a child?"

Stunned, she stared at him. "No," she stammered. "No. Not anymore." Through her touch he felt great anguish and loss, but also anger at him. "She died," she whispered.

Spock absorbed the news, and his eyes became soft. "Do you still love me," he asked, fearful of her answer.

"I don't know anymore. I don't want you to die; I know that." She closed her eyes and shuddered.

"Will you bond with me when we are freed?"

She tried to jerk her hand away in anger, "This is a hellva time to ask! Why? Tell me, why! I haven't seen you in years. You didn't even come back when I needed you—when our child needed you the most." Her blue eyes blazed. "Leonard used everyone and everything he could when it would have mattered most to find you."

She was panting with rage while wrestling with her love and anger. "And what in hell makes you think we're going to escape? What an optimist you've become."

"I love you and I ask your forgiveness for my selfishness," Spock said softly, tenderly in the face of her anger.

Christine closed her eyes, realizing the futility of their situation. Could they have peace between them before death?

She moved toward his face, and before Spock could say anything else, Valeris appeared, and clutched in her hand was a large ceremonial dagger, the point of which she placed in the hollow of Christine's throat.

"Spock, Spock, Spock. You are a fool. Whatever do you see in this...human woman? Oh, that's right-your mother!" Valeris emitted an ugly laugh.

"What will you do to keep me from cutting this woman into a limbless torso? What a torture, a prison, to be encased in such a body. Or," she moved behind Christine, reaching up, "If I placed the knife here," indicating the upper part of Christine's cervical spine. "That too could be a prison. What if I cut out her eyes?"

The Vulcan woman's eyes were gleaming, mad with power and lust. "I could be merciful, Spock, and slit her throat quickly so that she doesn't suffer. Much."

"Perhaps….I will simply give her to Tak and allow you to watch," she smiled at the idea. Taking Christine by the hair, she shoved the doctor to the Klingon, standing a few feet back. "Tak is particularly fond of human females, but he says they are too delicate. She could last a few days in all probability." Moving to the other side of Spock, Valeris looked down his length into his face, "But I wouldn't bet the planet on it. But how long would you last, hmmm, watching them?

"What will it take to have you willingly bond with me and father my children, not mongrels who are not strong enough to survive," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Christine.

Valeris had just made her most deadly mistake—underestimating a mother's love for her child.

Christine broke free of the Klingon's half-hearted grasp, as he was entertained by his leader's performance, and she was filled with maternal rage. She dropped her shoulder and hit the shorter, smaller Vulcan woman in the back with every ounce of power in her, using her size and momentum to knock Valeris to the ground several feet from where she had stood.

Christine lost all hearing and reason. Grabbing up a reddish stone from the ground, Christine smashed it into the Vulcan woman's head. All her rage, her hurt, her loss was encapsulated into that strike, yet in her mind all she saw was her dying four week old baby. A mongrel! Christine would shatter Valeris' head into pieces. "You bitch," she screamed.

Somewhere she heard phaser fire, but, in her blind fury, it did not register. She struck Valeris, again, again, and again, until green blood soaked into the red sands turning them an odd hue. Christine continued to hammer the separated pieces of skull and couldn't feel the flecks of blood and gruesome spatter on her face, arms, and hands.

She didn't stop until Spock gently placed his arms around her from behind and spoke softly in her ear to calm her. He eased the stone from Christine's gore covered hands and dropped it, allowing it to roll against what was left of Valeris.

Kevin Riley came running up behind them, phaser rifle in hand. He stared in shock at the tableau before him.

"Captain Riley, we need a medical team as well as security."

Riley could not reconcile the compassionate woman he knew with the carnage before him.

"Mr. Riley," Spock's voice was commanding.

"Yes, sir." Riley said, as his walk turned to a run.

Spock picked Christine up in his arms and moved away from the corpse. T'Lar, who had remained in the background, until Riley had taken out the traitors, moved toward them.

"Here," she indicated the slab where Spock had been secured. He lay her down, her eyes were closed and her hands were still knotted into grisly fists.

"Christine. I am here." He took a wet cloth and pan filled with water brought by T'Lar. Tenderly, he began wiping the green blood and brain matter off her face and pulling the gruesome bits from her hair. Spock didn't even notice when T'Lar returned with a blanket to cover her lower half. He continued to clean the ghastly remains off her.

Spock felt a soft touch on his arm. "She needs more than a doctor, Spock. She needs you to help her be whole again. This time do not abandon an ashayam who you know to be true and honest."

T'Lar walked away to see to the release of her students.

Riley returned. "Help is on the way, sir." He swallowed at the sight and turned away. "I'm sorry; she is one of the toughest people I know. This is…." Riley couldn't finish, so he started in another direction, "The rebels are all dead, except for the Romulan woman, but she could be close."

Riley walked over to the altar and touched Christine's hair lightly. "I'm sorry, CC," he said, and went to wait for the authorities to arrive, since beaming in was strictly forbidden in sacred and archaeological sites.

He turned back one last time when he reached the opening. Captain Spock was wrapping Dr. Chapel in a blanket, and for a Vulcan, Riley thought he had the most sorrowful face he had ever seen.

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

**This is a short chapter, and I apologize. I know it's aggravating when you are interested in a story; I hope you still are! Sometimes, real life slows down our fun in the Star Trek universe, but I will be wrapping up the story next week. Deep thanks to the people who reviewed; those kind words keep writers going. Thank you.

Blow Back: Chapter 12

Spock was keeping vigil beside Christine Chapel's bed, in Shi' Kahr's hospital complex, when Leonard McCoy appeared in the doorway. He paused, taking in the scene before him.

Spock was sitting in a chair at Christine's bedside. His eyes closed. Christine's face still held lingering traces of bruising and other injuries, but her bio-readings were strong.

McCoy had come as fast as possible, which in this case was pretty damn quick. When Sarek of Vulcan sends a ship for you, personally, to transport you across the galaxy, red tape is not an issue.

As if sensing his presence, and he probably did, Spock raised his head to look at McCoy. Leonard was surprised at the age and worn demeanor exhibited by the Vulcan. Spock had seemingly aged faster than he and Christine had. Before the doctor had a chance to move, Spock rose and moved to him.

"Thank you for coming," Spock said quietly. "She needs you." His words were not passionate or beseeching, simply truthful.

Leonard McCoy grabbed Spock by the upper arm and said, "I'm here, my old friend."

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After going through Christine's medical records for the past three days, Leonard asked to speak to Spock somewhere privately, away from her.

Guiding them to a secluded corner where a small waterfall in black stone trickled nearby, Spock sat down heavily.

Leonard sat across from him and leaned his elbows on his knees to look at Spock, with his legs spread and head slightly bent. He, too, was tired, emotionally wrung out.

"Well, obviously, she is still in a coma. Still in shock, I'd say after what happened. Tell me about the last few days, here at the hospital," McCoy asked.

"Restless nights, crying, begging for me to come home, although I am there holding her hand." Spock looked at the fountain, unable to face McCoy yet. "I am concerned for her mental well-being. What she did was something that the Christine I know would never have done."

McCoy wasn't going to let him off so easy. "The Christine you knew, not know. You don't know everything she's been through, Spock, since you left after Jim died. And if I were you, I wouldn't worry about her sanity. She's been through a lot, and I'm not sure she's dealt with it all, still yet. Believe it or not, Spock, humans don't face their emotions either—especially when they're brutally painful and seem overwhelming."

"But I do, Leonard. I….experienced it all through her eyes, rather unexpectedly. Our child died. I was gone and our child died. She blames me for this, rightly so." Spock's sad countenance finally turned to McCoy. "She will never forgive me."

McCoy twisted his mouth as if unsure of what to say and rubbed his hand across his tired blue eyes. "I don't know, Spock. Christine has loved you for so long, almost her entire adult life. When the baby died…..well, afterward, I told her that even if you had returned, we probably couldn't have saved her; the baby had so many problems. Honestly, it was a surprise that she lived as long as she did and a mercy for them both when she died, though God knows I didn't say that to Christine. I know that's brutal, but it's true. You could not have saved her by being there, Spock. I told her that. She knows that."

Getting to his feet, McCoy placed his hand on Spock's shoulder. "I need to eat. Would you like to join me? Get out of here for a while?"

"No. I will go back to Christine's room." Before McCoy could walk away, Spock's voice stopped him, "What was my child's name?"

In an instant, a thousand heart-breaking images flashed across the doctor's mind of the dead baby: tiny pointed ears; congenital heart problems; Christine's gut wrenching sobs.

He said, "The baby's name was Lena," then walked away to eat a meal for which he had just lost his appetite.

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Christine's eyelids opened slowly, and she fought for consciousness. When she came to her senses she recognized the hospital. Turning her head, she saw Spock sitting in the partial darkness of the room; his eyes closed. Leonard McCoy was across the room, asleep on a small cot that had been brought in for him. Through the windows, she could see it was dark outside and the thought of the heat of Vulcan made her glad to be in the coolness of her room.

She studied Spock. He seemed to be uninjured, thank God. He looked tired and, surprisingly, a bit older than he should for a Vulcan. As if he knew that he was being observed, he opened his dark eyes and raised his head. Christine searched his face, as he did hers, and an eternity seemed to pass in a long moment.

Her face relaxed, and she didn't smile but there was a sliver of something about her that subtly altered, Spock thought.

He rose and went to her bed and sat down in the chair beside it. "How do you feel?"

She shrugged, "I'm not dead. You?"

Spock said, "I am not dead either."

Christine smiled in spite of herself, "That's a good thing."

Spock reached tentatively for her hand. She didn't pull it away. They sat, not saying anything for a while.

Quietly, Spock said, "I am sorry about Lena. I did not know. I would have returned. Please believe me."

"Would you," Christine asked. "Could you have? You were so devastated; I don't know how you would have handled it."

"I would have returned." He held her cool hand in his large one and leaned toward her on the pillow. "I meant what I said. I have been a fool. I tried to tell you that I loved you when we were home, on Earth, before Jim died. I could not form the words; I could accept feeling what I did as a Vulcan, but saying it aloud seemed impossible. You have been the most constant, loving person in my life. I ran away because the loss of Jim overwhelmed me, and when I came to myself and controlled those feelings, I realized that you, too, would one day leave me, and I could not bear it."

It was impossible to doubt his veracity; his eyes were dark pools that pulled at her heartstrings.

"Do you still….have strong feelings for me," he asked.

"I still love you, if that's what you're asking. I have always loved you, probably since the first time I laid eyes on you, much to my chagrin," she gave him a shy smile.

"To your 'chagrin'? You do have reason to be regretful, Christine, but I ask you to reconsider me."

"Why should I?"

"Because you love me." Spock leaned so close she could feel the heat radiate from his body. "Because I love you. Because I came for you. Because I will never leave you again due to fear of loving you or losing you. I will be with you as long as you want me." He was close enough to almost touch his lips to hers, "If you will reconsider having me back in your life, that is."

Christine placed her hand softly on the side of his face, "I'm simply happy you're here. Now."

Taking her hand from his face, he softly kissed her palm, her fingers, one by one, then placing it back into her lap. "Tomorrow," he said, "I am taking you home, to Corfu, if that is acceptable to you."

Tears filled her eyes to overflowing and she whispered, "Yes, that is acceptable."

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The next day at lunch, Spock asked McCoy, "Why has Christine not asked about the mission, Riley, or her ship?"

"I don't think she cares right now, Spock," the doctor said. "In my medical opinion, she's still in 'crisis mode' and is more concerned with maneuvering the ship of "Christine" without hitting the shoals. That's a good thing, self-preservation; it shows she understands her vulnerabilities right now. She will eventually. At some point she will want to know everything, including about Valeris's death, which right now, she may not remember. That's not a bad thing. Don't push her. Let her heal. Just be with her. You ARE going to be with her? You're not planning on leaving her again because if you are—"

"I am not."

"Good. I am not sure she could stand it right now. If you're back in her life, be here for good, or leave now and leave her alone. She doesn't need to be yanked around like a cheap toy anymore." Leonard was surprised at the anger in his own voice, but he meant it, every word.

"I will not."

"You'd better not or I'll hunt you down and skin your damn Vulcan hide." Getting up abruptly, McCoy angrily threw his food into a receptacle and walked out of the cafeteria.

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Blow Back, final chapter.

Christine watched the sea birds ride the wind currents above the stunning Aegean Sea. Old boats, some sailing vessels with large white sails, tackled the waves the same way humans had been doing for over two thousand years.

So peaceful. She only wished it was as peaceful in her soul.

Since their return to Earth, Spock had been solicitous, sensitive even, attempting to anticipate her every need. It did not calm the churning waves inside her.

Memories of her experiences on Vulcan had returned, but she had not spoken of them to Spock. She had not spoken to anyone of them, although Leonard had been to the house twice to try to talk to her, Christine had claimed it was still foggy. Leonard didn't believe her. And he knew she knew.

Valeris' kidnapping and attack, along with her vicious remarks about Lena, were not something she wanted to speak aloud. My God! It was hard enough to hear them re-echoing in her head over and over. A fury which had been a smoldering ember inside her was growing steadily into an inferno.

Spock sat down in the chair beside her, placing a glass of lemonade beside her, on the small table between them.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You are welcome. Are you sure there isn't anything which would appeal to your appetite? Doctor McCoy said quite clearly—"

"I know what Leonard said. I'm not hungry." Her gaze never shifted from the sea.

Spock gently placed his hand over hers.

"You have not been sleeping well, nor eating. I am concerned. You told me on Vulcan that you were ready to come home. The good doctor had misgivings, perhaps I should have listened to him."

Spock was not accustomed to dealing with Christine in moods like this, but as Dr. McCoy had said, he and Christine had been apart for some time, and things had happened. He had felt the horror and heartbreak that she had endured and that was enough to help him understand what his absence during that time had done to hurt her. He had been so eager to have her return to him that his logic had failed to check his urgency to take her from Vulcan to a place where they had enjoyed better times.

At first, Christine had seemed relieved to be home, but after a few days, she had withdrawn into herself, not speaking unless spoken to and eating only minimally.

No crying. No expressions of emotion of any kind. Spock was enough of a student of humans, especially Christine, that he knew this was abnormal. Contacting Dr. McCoy, hoping that he would be able to get her to talk, hadn't worked either.

Abruptly, she rose and walked around the side of the house.

A short while later, the Vulcan followed her.

Christine was on her knees beside the small stone, marking the ashes of their child was interred. She swept the sand and grasses from the flat granite. Taking her index finger, she gently traced the child's name.

He dropped to the ground beside her.

"Christine, I grieve with thee."

Turning on him, her anger white hot, Christine tore into him, "You grieve with me? You grieve with me? You didn't even see her. You never saw her struggle to live, every breath a struggle. Her little ears, her hands—"

Unable to continue, she jumped to her feet and tried to stand, unsteadily.

Spock tried to help her, taking her arm.

She shook him off angrily. "Don't touch me!"

"Christine!"

Inside the house, Spock found her throwing clothing into a traveling bag.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"Anywhere but here, away from you!"

"You said-"

"I know what I said. I was wrong." Whirling around, Christine grabbed him by the arms, "I can't forgive you. I can't forget that you let our baby die."

"Dr. McCoy said there was only a slim possibility that it would have helped the child. You are behaving irrationally and illogically, and I am afraid you will hurt yourself, Christine."

The blow from her caught him completely off guard, turning his head.

"She had a name, you unfeeling bastard! Lena! Lena was her name!"

Collapsing to the floor, all the anguish of her loss, the terror and violence she had endured, the crew she had failed by leading them to their deaths in the guise of a hospital ship came crashing down on her.

Spock gathered her in his arms, and knocking the bags and clothing onto the floor, he wrapped his arms around her, even as she fought him with all she had, screaming and sobbing.

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Spock lay with Christine locked in his arms until her anger and hurt had exhausted her. Now the day had faded, and only the light from the moon reflected off the white walls of the house illuminated her face. Peaceful now in sleep.

He had failed her. He had abandoned her. His obsession with finding Jim Kirk had blinded him, kept him from returning, but that was no excuse for not making what they had permanent throughout the years they had spent together.

His arrogance and blindness to his disregard of Christine's feelings was inexcusable. He realized he had treated her as one might a doll. Taking her out to play when he needed her, putting her back in her place when he did not.

Shame filled him. His mother's face flashed in his mind. She would have expected more of him. He was, as she had once told him, part of her. He certainly knew that now. Had he been able, Spock would also have cried. Instead, he held onto the woman he loved, determined to make things right between them.

The Vulcan slipped quietly from the bed. Entering the main living space, he sat in front of the comm unit and connected to whom he needed to speak.

"Spock." McCoy had obviously been asleep. "What's wrong? Is Christine alright?"

"She—we need you to come. The situation is proving to be more than I can handle alone," Spock's voice was low and raspy.

Leonard noticed the dark, tired eyes, but there was something else there. He believed Spock was sincere, and, although he would never admit it, perhaps scared.

"I'll be there as fast as I can; hold on, both of you."

"Thank you."

Leonard McCoy nodded once and closed down the comm unit.

Returning to the bedroom, Christine hadn't moved. Spock took her daywear off, as well as his own. Climbing back into bed, he pulled the cover up and over them. Turning to Christine, he was surprised and yet not, when she not only accepted his embrace, but pressed her face close into his chest, murmuring.

Once again, holding her tightly, Spock listened to the waves break below, churning blue water attacking the stones upon which their house rested.

The End

**I dedicate this chapter to T'Lu, who never gave up on me finishing this, and through her gentle persuasion, allowed me to listen to Christine's voice and her heart, and helping them both to accept that staying to fight through the hard times is better than running and carrying the baggage/pain with you.


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